


The End of The End

by RadiationNinja



Series: what goes up must come down [2]
Category: Septiplier - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Depression, Hurt/No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Panic Attacks, Sad Ending, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 04:26:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11821218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RadiationNinja/pseuds/RadiationNinja
Summary: Jack doesn't really want to die





	The End of The End

**Author's Note:**

> This is a side-along to The Truth, told in second person from Jack's point of view. 
> 
> Free to translate, just let me know!
> 
> *Lots of swear words thanks to Jack's potty mouth*

I'm fine

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Things were different, that's for sure, you've never felt this empty, and tired, fuck, you were tired, like everyday was a struggle to get up to face the oncoming day. And when someone walks up to you complaining about your work, sometimes you just want to snap and scream, "I /tried/ okay?!" Because you did try, you just weren't good enough.

You plaster on a fake smile, like everyday, and try to remember yourself, you used to be so... happy, so /carefree/, and now you weren't, like someone, one day, flicked a switch that changed you. You just weren't the same anymore, not vastly different, but not the same.

There were days were you just want to cry, and all your emotions, rolled into one big vast emptiness, for the while, were let out, but it stopped working a while ago, itchy wrists, near constant headaches. Crying just doesn't work like it used to.

You see Mark. Fuck, you absolutely love him, so much. So Damn Much. and you ignore the voice in your head telling you you weren't good enough. 

You don't need a voice telling you that; you already know.

You remember late nights laughing, smiling, being cheesy. With Mark. Then your best friend, now your boyfriend. Lover. Soulmate. Fated. Everything. Fuck, you love Mark who, despite everything, you know you can count on. 

Mark, who never lies to you, but you lie to everyday with the same lie over and over and over again,  
"I'm fine"

You know you're not fine, but you can't bring yourself to admit it to /anyone/. Fuck, you aren't good enough for Mark. Mark, who is so kind and sweet and loving and beautiful and honest and you fucking love him. You don't deserve Mark.

You soon find it hard to concentrate, the itch in your wrists is unbearable and your head is pounding, your movements are jerky, flinching, panicked, your eyes are frantic, and your breathing gets laboured as you notice everything, everything is amplified and you can hear the tick of your watch, the sound of Dan popping bubble gum, Ken's sneakers squeaking in the shiny floored hallways as he skips class.

You know for a fact that you shouldn't panic, and you try to get your breathing under control, focusing on the sound of Felix's voice, Mark isn't in this class, he isn't in any of your classes on a Friday. You have different frees too, someone touches your arm and you try to cover up your flinch, black and white spots are entering your vision.

You wake up at home, Felix probably drove you. Somehow you know that this won't end well, you're sure of that. You know that you should be more, better. You don't deserve anything good given to you. You've changed, and you know it's for the worse, because the words are getting to you. But you fake a laugh when mentioning something serious. Plaster on a smile and bring the eventual meltdown even closer. The light in your eyes is dying and it's nearing the end and you KNOW that you deserve the words and the knife and lock down your emotions because, damn it, you can't take it and, fuck, the gnawing in your stomach is becoming unbearable, your internal clock is winding down and if you have to kill yourself to stop the giant raging ball of emotional emptiness then you will.

You will kill yourself.

Because if it means that everything would just /stop/, then you will because the world is spinning too fast and you can't seem to find an anchor.

You know you're letting down everyone, Dan, PJ, Felix, Mark, but you can't make it stop and everything is loud and you are loud and you are kissing Mark at a party, the voice is ringing in your head and you find it hard to ignore it, you notice Dan's ex, Phil, and mention you and Mark shipping them together, and the raging emotions are killing you from the inside and Mark drives you home.

You know what you have to do because the sugarcoated "I'm fine"s you spit around aren't noticed, and you secretly wish that you could say that no, your day was awful and damn it, you are ticking down.

The pills are a pastel pink as you swallow them down, your hand is shaking as you pick up the knife, note in hand, a last cry for help, a last resort, because the door to your room is closed, not locked, because you want someone to help. You start to feel the effect of the pills and strangely, you feel like you don't want to die, but now it's too late, and you plunge the knife.

 

 

 

You break down, crying, you're dying and there's nothing you can do about it, laughing hysterically, suddenly, your phone rings and you look at the screen, it's Mark, tears are streaming down your face as you answer his call. 

"Jack, baby, talk to me," you hear Mark's frantic voice, and feel a pang of guilt when you hear the desperate edge to his voice, and you are about to die and nothing makes sense.  
"Are you alright?" And you feel the urge to tell him everything, that you are dying, that you have five minutes left to live, and you don't want to die, you just want it to stop, and that you love him and you are so sorry. But instead you lie, you sugar coat it.

"I'm fine," and you know you're not fine, but you sugar coat it like the coward you are, and when you feel like that's your last chance at redemption gone, you do nothing about it, because your vision is blurry and your throats tickles, like you're about to vomit.

But then you hear your love's voice again, in a seriousness you can't properly describe,  
"Are you alright?" He repeats and you've got nothing to lose when you answer in the negative, nothing to lose when you explain that no, you are not alright, and that you're about to kill yourself but, fuck, you don't want to die, you just want someone to take some goddamn notice of your goddamn problems so you wouldn't be so alone, and maybe it's selfish of you to seek help right before you are about to die, you hold the knife tighter as you hyperventilate, blade digging into the palm of your hand, you don't want to die but it won't stop. 

Your whole life is flashing before your eyes. You're still on the phone with Mark, but you can't hear anything he says, you can't see anything except black and simultaneous swirling colours, you grope blindly, brain shutting down, and you stab, note clutched tightly, phone lying abandoned on the ground, Mark's name on the screen with a love heart next to it.

The door opens suddenly and in walks Phil Lester, startled by the sight of your broken body eyes watering as he takes in the sight of your pathetic form, he wrestles the note out of your hand, the warm blood on your slack fingers staining his dark blue shirt, he races out of the room, breathing wild and erratic. 

You presume he passed your love, who makes his way into your room and cries over your bloody form, rocking back back and forth as his tears dilute your blood, he pulls the knife out carefully and his tan hands make their way through your green hair, staining it red.

A gasp comes from the doorway. Your mother. Your dead now and frankly, you regret it, Mark was the love of your life the /light/ of your life, and now you're gone and Mark's life is gone because despite what you may have thought when you were alive, you were Mark's whole life.

All because of you, because strangely, now you can think of many reasons to live and many reasons not to say "I'm fine."


End file.
